


Due to the Dead

by budgeridoo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, M/M, The Iliad, book 23 destroyed my soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:26:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5429675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/budgeridoo/pseuds/budgeridoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone on Tumblr asked me to write a GerIta AU based on the Iliad.</p><p>Sleep has been long in coming to Ludwig for…weeks, it must be, by now. Since he refused to fight, he has been kept awake by thoughts of — of if he did not fight and the army was consumed by fire on the beaches, or if he did and the generals were allowed to destroy the fabric of the army through their own arrogance; before then, it was simply dreams of death, and he almost misses those, now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Due to the Dead

Sleep has been long in coming to Ludwig for…weeks, it must be, by now. Since he refused to fight, he has been kept awake by thoughts of — of if he did not fight and the army was consumed by fire on the beaches, or if he did and the generals were allowed to destroy the fabric of the army through their own arrogance; before then, it was simply dreams of death, and he almost misses those, now.

Now, Ludwig does not sleep at all. He tosses and turns in his cot, missing the surety of Feliciano’s body next to his (though when he was there it was always difficult to make room for the both of them). Though tears still sting at his eyes, he does not cry — he doesn’t know why, though, because he has already broken down in front of his men, when the news arrived and when they finally bore his body back. Instead, he stares at the wall of the tent, listening to the snores of his men on the other side, or at the ceiling, or at the empty cot to his left.

He should sleep. He should try, at least, no matter what he may dream, but whenever he closes his eyes sleep feels that much further away. With his eyes closed his mind tries to fill in — a heartbeat, slow breath against his neck, the gentle movement of hands at his back — and in the space made by their absence loss pours in, slowly, like tar.

He blinks slowly, and on the open of his eyes, Feliciano is there, standing by the foot of his cot. Ludwig sits up, mouth falling slightly open.

Feliciano moves up quickly with his light step, taking a seat on the edge; one of his legs presses against Ludwig’s thigh, too solid for a dream (he thinks) and too warm for a ghost (he hopes). He is only half-visible in what light filters in from the torches and fires outside, catching and gleaming off of dark curls, a wide, heavy-lidded eye.

“Ludwig,” he says, his voice soft and lovely as it was in life, and Ludwig tries to respond but all that comes out is a creaking “Ah?” Feliciano takes Ludwig’s hand in both his own, and he feels the dry warmth of Feliciano’s palms and thinks  _it’s not fair, it would be better if he were a ghost, incorporeal and cold and not like_  this.

“I — please —” Feliciano chokes off, and when he begins again he barely pauses for breath, words falling over each other. “Please, please bury me, you  _have_  to, I can’t — I can’t stay like  _this_ , I can’t  _go_  until you do, and I can’t come back after you do but it’s, it’s better like that, don’t keep me here —” He squeezes Ludwig’s hand, almost tight enough to hurt; he’s beginning to cry, and an answering knot rises in Ludwig’s throat. “You always listened when I was alive, always, don’t stop because I’m — I’m dead.” Looking Ludwig directly in the eyes, Feliciano’s shoulders tremble and his breath hitches and tears stream down the soft curves of his face.

(Ludwig remembers when he last saw Feliciano alive, how he had come to Ludwig crying with his hands covered in their own side’s blood, thrown his arms around his neck and begged him, begged  _they’re dying, they’re dying Ludwig our friends are dying how can you sit by and just let them, you and your_ honor _— at least let_ me _go, they might not think I’m you but they’ll know who I am and our men need someone_ and he had condemned Feliciano with a  _yes_.)

“I will,” Ludwig forces out around the tightness in his chest. He reaches out with his free hand and cradles Feliciano’s cheek, Feliciano reaching up with one hand to rest it along Ludwig’s fingers. “I’ll make sure you’re buried. I promise.”

Feliciano dips his head, just a little bit. “And — the other promise. When you — when you — have them bury you next to me, like you promised.”

“I will.” He cannot deny Feliciano a promise,  _this_  promise, when he did not deny Feliciano the chance to die. “It — it won’t be very long, I think —” Feliciano shudders, and Ludwig almost wishes he hadn’t said that, but it’s the truth. He’s known ever since he stepped on the boat — this was a short life and glory eternal, then; and he’s felt it so strongly over his head in the past weeks. Not long. Not long. And maybe, with Feliciano in front of him, not long won’t be so bad.

“Could —” Ludwig says, and the rest of his sentence tangles in his throat, but Feliciano understands him as he always does and reaches forward, reaches to hold him, begins to pull him close.

Ludwig wakes, and desperately holds back his tears, and waits for dawn.


End file.
